


monotony unmade

by 님 (nymmiah)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Gen, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Racist Language, Zenos yae Galvus being Zenos yae Galvus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymmiah/pseuds/%EB%8B%98
Summary: Naught could spark interest quite like the unknown. And truly unknown is he who is known to all as the Warrior of Light.A gift for my very good friend, Tai (@renmantai on Twitter), featuring his WoL Oki Uramoto!
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus & Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	monotony unmade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ahtai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahtai/gifts).



> Draw me Haurchefant now you asshole.

Zenos looked out upon his throne towards the empire that was his.

Where once savagery reigned, now ruled by the iron gauntlet of the Garlean empire. Marks of Garlemald, that  _ mighty _ empire that Emperor Solus vos Galvus created, peppered this foreign land from deepest canyon to highest peak. Among the tan and beige of the Gyr Abanian wastelands, flags bearing their sign flew proudly over the sands, raised up high upon the steel structures that so characterised their empire.

Closer still, he looked out upon the cavernous halls of the Ala Mhigan Palace.

These halls were silent, and had been since the start of their occupation of these lands. Not even the wind outside howled. Such was the silence of his realm.

It was monotonous.

Boring. His days were endlessly drab, filled with naught but an infuriating white noise that itched at him, dug nails into his soul and left him wanting. Droning, every droning, as the voices of the men who served him droned.

Oh, how Zenos yearned for more. Something that would spark within him  _ excitement _ where apathy lay.

This land of savages lay broken before him, unable to summon up even the smallest scrap of rage to provide him sport. What other use did they have? These lands provided aught, neither sport nor produce, neither men nor pleasure.

And with his father's orders, he remained ruler of a broken land, sat eternally upon his throne of monotony.

* * *

As rats scurried to their hiding places, so too did these men, screaming and fearful. But there was naught a place for them to hide.

They had believed their headquarters to be so hidden behind glamours. Zenos had been made aware of this Reach moons before; the loss of an entire canyon from their maps had been most conspicuous.

What sport was there to be found in flushing prey out of their nests ere they had been made plump with their gluttonous pride? Truthfully, it had been foolish of them to believe themselves so untouchable for so long. Had he the capacity for it, he would have pitied them.

The resistance members that fled before him were weak, scrambling to cling to what remnants of their lives they had left, their so-called pride unable to rise in face of him.

Zenos strolled forth, his pace measured and slow, and he did naught to chase after those that escaped the Reach. The cries of the weak would swiftly call forth their protectors—or so he was led to understand, based off of what he had seen from the savages time and time again.

His act against Rhalgr's Reach was, after all, naught more than a means to alleviate his boredom. Mayhap these protectors that would be summoned would provide him better prey than these rats.

Zenos stood in the midst of the Reach, watching as smoke and fire bloomed before him, and the screams of the dying echoed in this canyon.

Around him, his soldiers pillaged and burned and destroyed.

Ere long, the winds changed.

And with it came they: the fabled Scions of Eorzea at the head of which stood proud a girl in red, her hair a mane of gold in the dying Gyr Abanian light. He knew not her name nor her face; she was a disappointment, for all that her righteous fury sparked from her as a nimbus. What was the use of such spite if it could not be realised properly?

Her fists he batted aside with ease.

Nothing; he could feel absolutely nothing as he threw the girl to the side with the flat of his blade, her companions just as swift to be dispatched as they threw themselves at him uselessly.

The protectors of the weak had proven themselves to be equally as weak. With their last few cries silenced into fading pleas for their final protector--

And at last, came the Warrior of Light himself.

Tall and proud, the au ra stood before him with his knives yet sheathed at his sides. He seemed unconcerned for his fallen men, sparing not a single glance towards their crumpled forms.

Zenos could see that he was callous, a far cry from the dewy eyed saviour of children that he was so painted by the whispers of the land.

With cold eyes he watched Zenos, a bland expression up on his countenance.

"... What?" The Warrior asked, when the silence between them had yawned malms wide. "Expecting me to throw myself into a fight that I am expected to hopelessly lose?"

Zenos had yet to encounter a man so irreverent, nor one so unafraid before him.

"You would concede to my greater strength so easily?" The prince asked, stirred by some unknown whim.

Zenos could easily cut down the Warrior before him. And yet, he would hear his answer, to know more of his thoughts ere he struck him down.

The Warrior let out a muted sigh, crossing his arms before his chest. Raising his scaled chin, the man continued to speak, the words reluctantly drawn from within.

"Absolutely not. You would not be able to stand against me. However, I would not be expected to win against you--and I have yet my part to play here."

His part?

Zenos' curiosity was further piqued that the auri before him would so daringly imply that he would win a bout between them. What could lend the man such confidence? Was it the so-called Blessing of Light that Baelsar had once spoken of so obviously?

Zenos took a step forth, regarding the Warrior with that burgeoning curiosity.

The au ra before him shifted his weight, leaning heavily upon his left leg. "Would you mind pretending that we fought some fantastically one-sided battle?"

And here, the savage yawned, lips parting to exhale loudly.

The sheer irreverence… it could be not an mere act, for there was not a single sign to betray any nervousness. The Warrior was truly nonchalant, caring not at all to keep Zenos within view. Was he truly so strong as to warrant such feckless behaviour? Zenos was curious. He wished to find out whether or not he would live up to his claims.

"You intrigue me." He stated finally, prowling ever closer.

"Great," said the Warrior he, "I care not."

The man stood utterly at ease--and not a single thing of that stance changed even as Zenos suddenly sprung forth, sword in hand. With not a single ponze of resistance opposing his act, the blade bisected the man in twain. It passed through the trunk of his body, slashing through fabric and armour and skin.

But most curiously--nary a drop of blood fell.

The au ra looked downwards at his body with a look of belated and abject disappointment. It took a few moments for the effect of Zenos' attack to be seen: the carved flesh began to bleed sluggishly at first, then furiously in a manner most artificial.

Copious amounts of blood, unnaturally high in volume, gushed onto the sand floor of the Reach.

"Oh dear. It seems that I, the Warrior of Light, have been defeated." The man exclaimed with a sigh. He clutched at the wound, smearing that blood over his bodice carelessly. "Who could ever oppose the might of the Prince of Garlemald?"

Zenos watched in silent wonder as the au ra threw himself down onto the floor in a suitably dramatic pose, as if he had been thrown there just like the others had been after encountering Zenos.

The Warrior fussed for quite some time with his garments, laying them flat and arranging them such that they would lay in an artfully dishevelled manner upon his body.

They were silent for quite some time, Zenos observing the Warrior curiously, and the Warrior laying there as if he had been slain by Zenos.

Ere long, the au ra cracked an eye open to peer up at Zenos.

"Well? Shoo. Go along and do what you Garleans like to do best and ruin countries in your conquests." The au ra yawned again. " _ I _ , however, must needs attempt to sleep. Being a hero to the masses is ever so tiring."

This singular taste of intrigue had cut through the blanket of monotony that had stifled Zenos since adolescence. It was hint of a transcendent form of joy, an ephemeral taste of the antonym to the apathy that had become the norm for the prince.

"What are you?" Zenos demanded. "And what plans have you?"

The faintest of smiles appeared on the Warrior's face. His eye closed once more, and he settled more comfortably on the bloodied dirt.

"I am a  _ Warrior of Light _ , quote unquote. And my plans are as all of the others': I am to fulfil man once more and to liberate him from the shackles placed upon them by his enemy." The au ra scratched at the skin around the wound upon his chest, adding, "Now go away and be a good boy; Emet-Selch is dearly proud of his great-grandson's contributions to the imminent Calamity, I'm sure. I'm sleeping."

Indeed, the Warrior had drifted off to sleep, utterly uncaring that Zenos stood over him with his sword pointed over his neck.

And Zenos was left with a singular question to wonder over:

Who was Emet-Selch?

**Author's Note:**

> Winks and shamelessly promotes the Azem fanzine, The Sun's Journey, that I'm modding @ [FFXIVAzemZine](https://twitter.com/FFXIVAzemZine). Applications are closed, but please await future news!
> 
> I'm also found on Twitter @ [nymmiah](https://twitter.com/nymmiah), where I occasionally upload sketches and ideas.


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